Asylum
by Boulder the Dragon
Summary: What is it like to be dating a monster? And what is it like to suffer at his mercy every day? Poor Violet is about to find out . . . One-shot, featuring my new OC. Don't read if you can't stomach stories of abuse and violence.


**Quick one-shot for my new OC, Violet. This has nothing to do with her personality or origin. It's just something I wrote after reading an epic book by the amazing Stephen King.**

**As I've mentioned in the summary, this story contains the abuse and violence toward a character. If you don't feel comfortable reading material like it, or have personal issues with the subject, read on with caution.**

**Enjoy.**

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Her breathing was labored. Her mind was racing. And her heart was dancing frantically.

It was midnight when Violet's boyfriend came back home. Give or take a few hours or so. But it only took roughly two minutes for him to find fault within the dinner she slaved over for him. He had been clear to her, right? Mashed potatoes, with no vegetables, and fresh cooked chicken to go along with it. But she had used the wrong seasoning. She had messed up. And now she would pay the price.

She had ran and locked herself in her closet moments after the first punch was thrown. He had missed her nose, and that just infuriated him even more. His rage had gotten out of control once again, and he meant to hurt her. To let her know that he was not to be messed with, and that what he wants, he gets. No questions asked. When he was as angry as he was now, she would have to hide. And he would search for her, screaming obscenities the entire time, until he'd find her, and the beating would continue.

The wretched fear was eating her alive. Fear, that acted like a swarm of ticks on a lone piece of wood, biting and chewing it's way until the wood was no more. But now she was in the closet, alone and scared, with nothing to be heard outside the door.

She was propped up against the back wall of the miniscule room, hiding feebly behind a small group of hung shirts, coats, and jeans. She felt cold and freezing tears sting her cheeks. She was whimpering, and she could feel her chest rising and falling with every breath she took. Each deep breath felt as though it were shoving her heart against her rib cage, and each beat seemed to cause blood to pulse through her veins and her head to throb painfully. She had her hands clasped against her mouth to keep herself from screaming and letting her sobs be heard. Her legs felt like rubber as they swayed back and forth feverishly, in an effort to hold her jittering body up. Each sob racked her torso, and each breath pained her ribs.

And then, the door to her room slowly and quietly creaked open.

Her eyes widened as she heard the sound of her door moan and hiss, as well as his voice call out for her. He was speaking calmly, soothingly. He was trying to get her to trust him, and come out of hiding. But she'd been dealing with this for over five years, and she wasn't stupid enough to fall for his games anymore. She knew all too well what was about to happen: He'd likely find her, and beat and hit her in any way possible, causing her to bleed and vomit until near unconsciousness. Then, he would clean her up and apologize to her. It was his way of keeping others from getting suspicious, and to keep her out of the hospital. He knew all too well that, after all those trips to the ER she already took, another trip for a broken nose or shattered ribs would spark questions.

There's only so many times that the lie of 'falling out a window' or 'being attacked by strangers' would work.

He wasn't stupid either. He knew what to say and how to say it in order to keep her from crying out for help. The knowledge that he always carried a gun with him had always petrified her. And it was the main reason she refused to reach out for help. But then, there were a lot of reasons she didn't reach out. His reputation and her fear of his threats were enough to keep her quiet, though.

He was abusive, and a monster. But she wasn't sure how he got that way. Violet could still recall the day she met him, when her heart fluttered to life and her voice caught in her throat. His handsome face, his well toned body, and his charming personality immediately caused an attraction to him. To Axel McKnight. And it wasn't long before he asked the question that would make her his girlfriend.

At first, life with Axel was everything she expected it to be. He would go to work, and she would clean and make sure everything was perfect for when he returned home. And when he did, he would shower her with love, bringing home every possible gift imaginable, and taking her out to dinner almost every night. He'd kiss her and whisper 'I love you' every chance he got, and she would murmur breathlessly 'I love you too', and the romantic gestures would continue until they reached his warm and inviting bed to share the night in each others' embrace.

And then, he turned cold.

She couldn't recall when it started, but she remembered the first day he laid a hand on her. He had seized her arm, squeezing it with too much force, and yelled in her face for something she did. Her mind was too broken to quite remember what it was exactly, but she would bet there was no reason for his explosive violence. Still, that didn't stop an argument from ensuing, and that didn't stop him from giving her the first of many, many beatings.

Her mind hurt just thinking about it. But from then onward, he had become a tyrant, asking her for perfection in everything she did, and threatening her with violence every time she slipped up. The day he broke her nose was the day she knew that she couldn't disobey him. She had accidentally sat on the remote while he was watching a program of some sort on television, accidentally changing the channel. He immediately began shouting, _You stupid dumb bitch, whatch where you're sitting! Dammit, you're so useless, you know that?_ Before either of them could think, his fist slammed into her nose with blinding force.

The amount of blood that began pooling out of her nostrils was mind-numbing in abundance. For a second, she didn't even feel any pain, just shock. His face had gone from rage to concern, but she knew it was worry for his own skin. What excuse could he use when people asked about his girlfriend's bruised and bloody nose? This prompted him to race into the kitchen and return with a dry cloth and a small bag of ice. He told her exactly where to put it in order to stop it from swelling too much. By now she felt the pain, and she was whimpering and shivering, tears spilling down her blood-stained cheeks. He lay her on the couch, muttering a false apology, and went right back to watching his show.

Luckily for him, she didn't have to go anywhere for a while, and the swelling went down quickly. Once the ordeal was over, he erased it from his memory. But he made sure to be careful about punching her in the face. Next time, he would beat her stomach or limbs.

The only thing that kept Violet with this demon was fear, and her guilty loyalty. He may be a monster, but he was able to provide her with excellent living accommodations. Without him, she would be alone on the cold and unforgiving streets, left to fend for herself. This idea was less than inviting to her. So, if she wanted to keep living in a home and eating the food Axel provided, she would keep silent about the abuse he'd put her through.

His death threats were also a key reason she stayed.

Some days he'd be fairly mellow, only going as far as to call her names and ignore her. Those were her favorite days. But some days, much like today, he would be in a rage spiral, beating and shouting his anger at her. She was his rag doll, his punching bag. She was his stress relief.

The creaking of the door stopped, as did Axel's promises of 'talking it out'. She tensed, her body shivering frantically and her fingers shielding the screams and whimpers from escaping her mouth. She could see his shadow from under the closet door, standing at the entrance to their room. Tears continued to race down her cheeks, and she was nearly squeezing the life out of herself with her hands over her mouth. She didn't make a sound, and she propelled herself further against the wall, hoping it would consume her and transport her outside, where she could run and be safe.

Her thoughts were shattered when he continued to taunt her. "Violet, baby, let's just talk this out," he coaxed, sounding like a father attempting to persuade his daughter to come out of her room. "I won't hurt you, I promise. I just wanna talk."

His feet were making their way further into her room. Sweat was trickling down her forehead, and fear was gripping her heart and squeezing it like bony and cold fingers. She could see his shadow clearer now, and she knew he was searching the room for her. She could tell he knew all too well that she was in the room, somewhere. Hiding.

And he just found out where.

She saw his shadow turn to the direction of the closet door, and she could see it enlarging as he moved closer, his shoes clomping heavily against the tiled floor. Her hands released her mouth instinctively, and she screamed at the top of her voice. If he didn't know she was there before, he certainly did now. She shoved herself against the back wall of the closet as far as she could, begging for it to devour her and keep her out of his grasp.

The door flung open, and he stood towering over her, his eyebrows furrowed and his stone jaw crooked in an angered scowl. His lip was twitching, something that would happen when he was unusually frustrated. His large, muscle-toned body was menacingly large in comparison to her small, curved, and thin physique. She would compare it to a Hummer parked in front of a Prius, staring it down as if it had plans to swallow it whole.

Her body shook violently, and her eyes began to well up. "No . . . sweetheart, no please!" she shouted as he gripped her arm and and yanked her out of the closet. She collapsed onto the hard tile and immediately felt a sharp pain as he kicked her stomach with brute force. She coughed powdered blood from her mouth, and she attempted to crawl into the fetal position.

"That's how you wanna play? Huh?" he asked, glaring down at her. "You think you can mess up what I ask for and just runaway before I can discipline you? Huh! Answer me, God damn bitch!" He was shouting, and Violet was mortified.

"I-I'm sorry b-baby-"

She was cut off as he launched a fist at her shoulder. It made contact with a sickening crack, and she screeched out in pain. His boot returned to land four more kicks to her chest, stomach, thighs, and crotch. She buried her face in her hands to shield out any attacks to her already injured nose, and she let tears of pain and torment slide down her face.

"No one disobeys me! No one, ya hear me? Do you _freakin'_ hear me!" he screamed. "I'll teach you how to behave like the good little angel you need to be! 'Till then, I'll treat you like the sack of crap you are, understand!"

She didn't even bother responding. He was still pummeling her, shouting obscene names in her face between blows. She felt numb, and she could almost feel herself slipping into unconsciousness. Unfortunately, she wasn't that lucky.

Axel finally ceased his barrage and spat on her face. She was shaking in both pain and fear, never uncovering her eyes. He was still yelling, but she tried her best to drown his booming voice out. She knew she was bleeding, and she could tell it wasn't just exterior bleeding either. Her stomach was moaning in turmoil, and before she could react, she threw up her last meal of slender spaghetti noodles. She was gagging and groaning, all the while still shaking and crying.

She could feel Axel's muscular arms pick her up and carry her through the house. His 'save her so I can save myself' instincts were kicking in. He gently lay her on their bed, a solemn expression on his rugged face. His midnight black hair was partially blanketing his left eye. Violet could feel her own hair sticking to her forehead and cheeks, glued in place by both fresh and dried up blood, as well as sweat. She was whimpering feebly, almost like a child who cut her leg for the first time. Axel was planting wet and slippery kisses all over her body, cleaning up her wounds with a cruddy and torn paper towel. The fabric of the sheet was rough and painful to her open wounds, but she didn't complain. She didn't dare complain.

After a while, and another vomiting session, he brushed his lips against her swollen and bloody mouth, before leaving the room, mutturing his idea for an excuse. Something about her tripping and crashing down an escalator during a trip to the mall late one night. She could barely hear what he was saying by now. She felt numb all over, and as she lay in her own dried blood and disgusting sweat, a thought occured to her:

This must be her Hell. She must have done something terribly wrong one day, and this was God's way of paying her back. Five years of putting up with this pain and torment, and she just came to the realization that she would suffer through this for the rest of her life.

She was trapped in her own personal asylum, and after understanding that she would be subjected to this nightmare every day she lived, she quietly cried, placing her blistered hands over her tear-soaked eyes, sobbing herself to sleep.

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So sad.

**As I've said (and if you've read the book, you can tell) this is hugely inspired by Stephen King's **_**Rose Madder**_**, a freakin' amazing book. I recommend giving it a good read.**

**. . . Wow, Violet's first story, and it's a depressing abuse one? I'm such a bastard :P**

Violet: I'm in a story? Oooh, can I read it?

**NO! I mean, maybe later.**

Violet: . . . Okie dokie!

**Sheesh. Wanna know more about Violet? Read her bio and quiz on my profile.**

**'Till next update. *cough**cough***


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